


spin cycle

by theholidayclub



Series: quarters, please! [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 2am laundry AU, Fluff, For reasons, Future Fic, Kinda, M/M, alternate universe - alternate meeting, and then ends up living in the same apartment building in Providence as him, and will be added when they do, in which Bitty starts at Samwell after Jack has graduated, is there a tag for not meeting in the canon timeline, other characters will make an appearance at some point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theholidayclub/pseuds/theholidayclub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a (sad) world, where Jack and Bitty aren't at Samwell at the same time, they meet down the road a bit, in a less than typical fashion.<br/>Otherwise known as: the 2am laundry AU you've been waiting for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	spin cycle

**Author's Note:**

> this has recently undergone a minor (but necessary) reconstruction! so if you notice the changes, don't worry, they're supposed to be there!!
> 
> if this is your first read, you're welcome, this is much better

The first time they meet, it’s by pure chance. Eric has a _schedule_ , thank you very much, and that schedule does not involve doing laundry in the middle of the night. He worked very hard to budget his time to make sure that it didn’t become a habit, as a matter of fact. Sleep schedules like his didn’t happen by accident. They involved meticulous napping and the right amounts of caffeine at just the right time. He’s spent months since his move to Providence perfecting it.

 

 

But this was the week from hell, and no color-coded calendar and carefully crafted shift break downs was going to give him back the hours he’d lost to the disaster of a wedding cake he’d thrown together this week. Not to mention the meetings he’d been sitting in on with Shitty on the expansion for the bakery. He’d been a slave to himself, and while the extra stress had proved worth the end results, it had left him little, if any, time for the little luxuries of life.

 

 

Like laundry.

 

 

Which is why Eric found himself there, in the basement of his apartment complex at two in the morning on a Friday (or was it Saturday now?). He was pouring over a cookbook and waiting for the dryer he was using as a seat to finish up.

 

 

And then Jack walked in.

 

 

Now, he may not have been destined for the NHL, or have been as committed as the rest of his former teammates, but a person doesn’t play NCAA hockey on the east coast for four years and not know who Jack Zimmermann is. Someone doesn’t play college hockey at all, anywhere, and not know that name. Playing hockey might not even be a requirement, really. Jack had a bumpy past that made him a bit infamous even with people who didn’t speak jock.

 

 

Not to mention he was an alum of Eric’s own alma mater, and attractive to boot. Honestly, that was the root of Eric’s problem. There were endless chirps from his teammates when it came to his attraction to the professional hockey player. For someone who claimed to be a casual fan of hockey at best (he was always going to be more of a football guy, an unavoidable truth with his father), Eric sure did care an awful lot about the Falconer’s stats.

 

 

It wasn’t even the first time he’d seen Jack around the building. Jack had already been living there when Eric had moved in. The boys had chirped him for days about it when he found out, but Eric will swear on his Moo Maw’s health that he didn’t know Jack had been living in that specific apartment in Providence when he signed the lease. He’d passed the other man on the stairs from time to time, or he’d spot Jack returning from a morning run while he went to open the bakery.

 

 

He’s not going to make a big deal out of this, though. He’s an adult (technically speaking), he can be in the same room as his lame celebrity crush without making a fool of himself. Not to mention the time – his mama raised a gentleman, and no one, famous or not, deserved to be harassed at two o’clock in the morning.

 

 

Should he say hello, though? That would only be polite, really. He could make a chirp about the state of the building’s laundry room (the weird puddle he’d nearly slipped in earlier being first on that list), or maybe comment on the late hour. Would that be too much? Maybe Jack did laundry this late (early?) on purpose, to avoid having to make conversation with strangers. Even Eric saying hi could ruin Jack’s night.

 

 

As if this laundry situation wasn’t stressful enough already.

 

 

“You went to Samwell?”

 

 

Eric looked up in surprise; the book he’d been scanning only so it wouldn’t be obvious that he was freaking out internally went tumbling off of his lap. He glanced across the room to see that Jack was looking right at him, and it hit him then that Jack had asked him a question.

 

 

“Huh?”

 

 

Eloquent, Bittle.

 

 

“Your shirt…” The older man gestured in Eric’s direction, shrugging and looking like regretted opening his mouth.

 

Flushed, Eric glanced down and saw that he was indeed wearing his familiar maroon and white _Samwell Hockey_ t-shirt.

 

 

“Oh! Mhm, I graduated in the spring, Class of 2017, go Wellies and all that. Didn’t you – uh, how d’ya know about Samwell?” Eric asked instead, like he didn’t know that Jack had graduated from the university the spring before Eric had started.

 

 

Instead of responding, Jack help up his own _Samwell Hockey_ t-shirt, before he tossed it into the washing machine with the rest of his clothes. He wasn’t smiling, but his expression had softened, and Eric counted it as a win.

 

 

Even if he wasn’t sure what the prize was.

 

 

Silence settled between them again, as Jack finished prepping his first load and Eric got caught up in his cookbook again. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Jack sink down to sit back against the washing machine, and had pulled out a book of his own. He couldn’t tell what the book was without actively craning his neck and staring, and he had worked really hard up until that moment to _not_ be a creep. He settled with knowing it must be a favorite of Jack’s, judging by how worn out and well-loved it looked.

 

 

Not long after, the dryer finally buzzed, and Eric had no choice but to hop off of it and pack up his laundry. With his bag of dryer-warm clothes in one hand and his cookbook and phone in the other, he headed for the door.

 

 

Of course, then the question was whether or not he needed to leave Jack with some kind of parting words, or if he’d used up his quota of the poor man’s tolerance. He paused in the door frame, decision made, and turned back to say goodbye, just as Jack spoke up again.

 

 

“You wouldn’t be Bittle, would you? The baking figure skater?”

 

 

It took Eric a moment to get over the shock of Jack Zimmermann knowing his name and penchant for baking, but eventually he nodded, the grin plastered on his face the only sign of his mental happy dance.

 

 

“That’s me! How’d you figure that one out?”

 

 

Jack looked back down at his book, smiling as he explained.

 

 

“Shitty and I still talk a lot. I keep up with a few of the guys, actually, but he liked to call and brag about your pies, and your assists. He also mentioned you’d started working at a bakery in Providence recently, so it made sense, I guess. Sounds like I missed out, not getting to play with you, eh Bittle?”

 

 

Eric squeaked, and stammered out a quick “You can call me Bitty!” He waved awkwardly, hone and book still in hand, before he slipped out of the laundry room and out of sight of Jack. He managed to make it to the elevator before the breathless giggles started, and he replayed the past thirty minutes in his head.

 

 

“ _Gracious_ , I have to call my mother in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on [tumblr](http://parsejack.tumblr.com)


End file.
